A Lost Miracle
by dreamsweetmydear
Summary: Abby and Tim face a personal tragedy. Established McAbby. Third story in The Promise Series.


**From the author's desk:** So this is an idea that I've had in mind for quite awhile, but I'm not sure how well I executed it. I've used this plot idea before for a story in another fandom—and part of me thinks I did better with that one than I did with this story.

Anyway, this is set after my story _Vows_. The amount of time passed between the two stories is unimportant, but if you must know, it's probably been a couple years since the events of that one.

I'm officially placing _In This Corner of the World, Vows,_ and now this story into a series, the end of which is…kind of indefinite at this point.

The series is called **The Promise Series**.

Please tell me what you think. I really, desperately want to know.

**Disclaimer: **_NCIS_ and its characters belong to Donald P. Bellisario and his associates.

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_**A Lost Miracle**_**  
by dreamsweetmydear**

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The first sign was the blood.

It was normal, Abby told herself. Bleeding at this stage could still occur. It wasn't over. If it didn't end in a few days, she would go to the doctor.

But then two days later, she woke up to painful cramps, and a dull ache at her lower back.

And more blood.

She'd scrambled out of bed, out of Tim's arms, and raced to the bathroom. Hoping, praying. Begging.

Please. Not again. Not again, not again.

But there was too much blood, and…and something in the blood that shouldn't have been there.

Something that wasn't blood.

Something that was…that was supposed…

Abby doesn't know how long she has been in the bathroom. All she can think of is the blood, and the pain, and the something that shouldn't have been there.

Faintly she hears Tim frantically calling her name through the door, his voice laced with worry, and fear, and pain. She can hear him pounding on the door, begging her to open it, to let him in. He's worried about her, for her. Is she okay? What happened?

Abby has sequestered herself in the tub, the water filling up around her, spilling over the edge.

She wants to drown.

Not again.

Why?

Why her? Why him? Why them?

Why?

She sobs, unable to stop. Her heart is broken, shattered into a million pieces.

Not again. This wasn't supposed to happen again.

What's wrong with her?

Why does this keep happening?

Oh God, it _hurts_.

The pain in her abdomen is still there, but now, her broken heart aches with every pulse of blood through it.

She glances just slightly at the pajama bottoms on the floor by the sink, now soaked with the spilled water from the tub.

They're still stained red, and bleed pink into the surrounding water.

Oh God. The blood.

The something in the blood that shouldn't have been there.

Over the roar of the tub's faucet, she hears a distant creak, like a door opening.

A hand reaches out, turns off the water. Drains the tub.

"Abby?"

Tim's voice is soft, soothing. She can't speak. She can't tell him what's happened. Not yet.

"C'mon Abs. Let's get you outta there."

There's a slight tremble in his voice and his hands, but he carefully lifts her from the water. Abby leans heavily on him and buries her head into the crook of his shoulder, suddenly drained, but still crying.

She feels like she'll never stop crying now.

He is gentle as he wraps her in a towel, and carefully dries her off before carrying her into their bedroom, where he sets her on the bed.

Abby keeps her eyes on her feet, her toes curling slightly into the carpet.

She can't bear to see if there's blood on the bed.

"Abby? C'mon. It's snowing today. Let's get you into something warm, all right?" Tim's voice is quiet, but to her it feels like the loudest sound in the world.

She is helped into a fresh set of undergarments—complete with a sanitary napkin, in the case of more blood—and a pair of sweatpants, and warm sweater.

Abby cannot move, and so allows herself to be dressed like a doll. Her mind is still reeling.

She still sees the blood on her clothes.

The something in the blood that shouldn't have been there.

Her body still aches.

"Abs? Here, take this. It'll help with the pain." Two pills and a glass of water are pressed into her hands, and she swallows them mechanically.

She feels Tim lift her fully back into bed, feels the bed dip as he climbs in from the other side. Immediately, she snuggles up to him, resting her head on his shoulder while he sits up against the headboard. She curls tightly into herself, and feels Tim pull her flush against him.

She clings to him, tears once more trickling from her eyes, a fine tremble running through her body as she tries not to sob.

"I'm sorry," she chokes out.

"Shh. It will be okay."

She hangs on to those words like a lifeline, and falls asleep, exhausted and broken.

They take the next week off of work. Abby cannot face the world right then, and she suspects that Tim is there because he is worried about leaving her alone.

They are in an odd sort of disconnect after that first day. Abby feels like a crystal figurine about to break with how carefully and solemnly Tim addresses her. She finds herself sitting curled up in one of the armchairs in the living room, unable to sleep the whole night through. Her sleep is haunted by dreams of dead babies and a sweet voice asking her why she failed, why she screwed up.

Why this happened again.

It's been nearly a week when she stumbles across Tim in the room that they wanted—want?—to use as a nursery one day.

They had already decided to have a starry sky theme, and Tim had painstakingly rigged the ceiling with fiber optic stars that lit up in the dark.

It is when she sees him lying on the floor on his back, staring up at the glowing blue lights of fake-wishing stars, the almost inaudible sound of his weeping filling the air like the saddest of melodies, that Abby finally admits to herself what happened.

A miscarriage.

She had lost her second child.

_Their_ second child.

She can feel herself falling apart, and rushes away from the room, into the living room.

The sobs that wrack her body leave her gasping loudly, and wondering how it's possible for her to have so many tears.

Her knees buckle underneath her and she crumples to the ground, her face buried in her hands.

"I'm sorry, Tim. I'm sorry I lost the baby."

He must have heard her crying, because suddenly she's being engulfed in his embrace, being held tight and secure.

"It's not your fault, Abby."

She can faintly see his face in the dim light of the one floor lamp she turned on in the living room. His expression is solemn and stoic, so unlike the jovial smile that usually graces his features, circles under his eyes showing just how little he's been sleeping too. Light reflects off the tears that streak down his cheeks.

She recognizes now that he is just as heartbroken as she is.

He locks gazes with her, and Abby can see the love that lies there behind the pain. His voice is rough from crying when he repeats to her,"It's not your fault."

She buries her face into his chest, uncaring of how her own tears soak into his shirt, her hands fisted into the worn cotton fabric.

"Why? Why did we get so unlucky? Why did we lose our child again? I was careful! I did everything I was supposed to!"

"I don't know," he says hoarsely, and Abby can feel his uneven breathing as he sobs brokenly into her hair. "I wish I could tell you, but I don't know."

"Make our baby come back to us, Tim. Please. Make it come back," she begs, and she feels his embrace tighten around her. It's like he's clinging to her, holding on for dear life.

"I'm sorry Abs. I can't. I can't bring it back." His voice is pained, aching with the same pleas for their child to come back. "I'm sorry."

They continue to hold each other, and cry together, and grieve and ache and plead and wish and beg and grieve.

Eventually they fall asleep in each other's embrace right there on the living room floor with the lights on. They clutch each other like life lines, because they are lost in this sea of anguish and grief without each other.

As the grey light of early dawn filters through the living room window, Abby wakes to the feeling of warmth that surrounds her.

She stares out the window at the predawn light, and sees the faint smudge of pink on the horizon.

Tomorrow they will have to face the world. She will set up a doctor's appointment to get herself checked out. They will return to work. They will have to face the condolences and the sympathy and the pity of the people they see and deal with everyday. Ziva will hug the both of them. Tony will hug Abby tight, and lay a reassuring hand on Tim's shoulder. At some point, the two of them will disappear into Gibbs' basement, not necessarily together. Ducky will hug them both and tell them everything will be all right.

Of all of them, Gibbs probably understands the best what she and Tim are going through.

She's not ready to face all of that yet.

She knows Tim isn't either.

Today, they will mourn the loss of a little boy or girl that they never even got a chance to really know. They will mourn the child that was taken from them unfairly.

Tim will spend the day telling her it's not her fault. She will probably spend the day silently denying it to herself until she can eventually reach a point that she can accept that this was no mistake of hers.

Because they have unfortunately done this before.

Abby watches as the sun slowly comes up, causing the snow on the ground to glow in the oncoming light.

She feels Tim's arms tighten around her, and she glances behind her to see he is also watching the rare winter sunrise.

Abby settles herself back into his embrace again, and returns her gaze to the rising sun.

Eventually, they get up, and move to their bedroom where they fall asleep again in each other's arms, having taken some comfort in the image of the pure white snow glowing brightly in the early morning light.

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**-END-**


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